Minor Characters Collection
by octocelot
Summary: Is what it says on the tin. Characters and genres in description refer to most recent chapter.
1. In Which Inaccuracies are the Last Straw

**Written for QLFC, Round 2 (Hogwarts Subjects) as the Keeper for the Arrows. Prompt: Write about a student's relationship with their teacher for the subject, Muggle Studies.**

 **Also used prompts from the forum Caesar's Palace (technology, innovate).**

 **WC: 1425**

* * *

Rose buried her face into the pages of her History of Magic textbook, stifling a huff. Professor Binns seemed completely unaware that Egyptian King Tut's tomb had been discovered long ago.

As she was lamenting her misfortune, her pocket warmed, and she huffed again. All her cousins didn't know when to shut up, apparently.

"Miss Weasley, is there an issue?" Professor Binns said from the front of the room.

Rose quickly sat up. "No, sir. My apologies," she replied, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a scroll.

A line of small, neat print showed up on the parchment.

 _Professor Richards just said that the television is where little people live. -A_

Rose unraveled the rest of the scroll and read the remaining comments.

 _Muggle Studies is a joke, haha! -T_

 _Why don't we get an actual Muggleborn wizard to teach the class? -A_

 _Please, as if the school board is smart enough to think of something like that. -T_

With a deeper huff, Rose picked up her quill and scratched into the paper. _Albus, Prof. R used that analogy in my class yesterday. Emphasis on analogy. -R._

 _Of course your class would be ahead of ours. -A_

 _Shut up, you lot! My pocket will burn. -JAMES_

Rose smothered a giggle when she saw the angry face that James had drawn on the page. Ever since he had started studying five NEWTS, he'd been particularly irritable.

 _Sorry, that's illegible? I suddenly can't read. -A_

 _Pay attention in class. -J_

 _Even if it's Muggle Studies? -A_

 _YES -J_

Rose snorted at the huge letters. They took up almost the entire page. It was lucky for James that his words would be erased the next time he opened his scroll.

Rose put hers away. It was true that she was more of an expert in Muggles than Professor Richards was, but he knew the Ministry-regulated curriculum better than she did. The Ministry was so behind on Muggle advancements; their textbook was fifteen years old, and so much had happened since then! There were so many incorrect particulars in it (and on the tests), that Rose had to actually _study_ to pass. Even her family knew enough about Muggle culture to fashion a system of scrolls based on the structure of what Muggles called internet forums.

"Miss Weasley, do you know the answer?"

Rose cringed. "Sorry, Professor. I don't."

"Pay attention! Does anybody know what the French did to battle the onslaught of Mages at the Battle of Tours?"

 _Dammit, Binns!_ Rose cursed. _Muslims, not Mages._

* * *

"Did I miss much?" Rose plopped into her seat, breathless.

"Not really," said her desk mate.

"Thanks."

Rose chewed her lip. Muggle Studies wasn't her favorite class, but at least the teacher wouldn't give her detention for tardiness.

Professor Richards was talking about pulleys again. Pulleys made up around fifteen percent of the final exam, and Rose was almost determined to get her hands on one before then. Once, Rose had suggested that Professor Richards bring in a pulley to demonstrate some of what he was talking about, instead of just using diagrams. He brought a model to class and immediately broke it.

"I'm going to assign you all a topic on Muggle technology. I expect two thousand words, and I will be checking. Remember, the spell is _quanta verba_!"

Rose groaned along with the rest of the class.

* * *

After doing nothing but nibbling her pencil for a good twenty minutes, Rose decided to owl her mother about the essay. She was so glad that her mother kept in touch with her former home and could probably tell her lots about Muggle media, which was Rose's assigned topic. Rose made sure to mention her professor's incompetence a few times to rile her mother up enough to make her respond in a timely fashion.

Rose's age-old trick worked better than a charm. Soon enough, she got a letter with a long list of resources she could read, printed articles, and a Muggle newspaper.

So, you can imagine her surprise when she got her essay back and saw a failing grade in the top margin of the first page.

* * *

"What in Merlin's name?" Rose paced around the common room, her arms flailing wildly. "I was, for once, excited about Muggle Studies! What did I get in return? A fail! Why do I try at all? Don't answer that."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "Because you're a Gryffindor try-hard?"

"I said not to answer."

"When have I ever listened to you?"

Rose collapsed onto a couch. "I knew letting Slytherins in was a mistake."

"Don't be _rude_."

"You know who's ruder than I am? Professor Richards."

"What'd he do, anyway?" Scorpius asked, prodding her on.

"Do you want the long version?"

"I guess there's no escaping it. The long version is fine."

"Well, basically," Rose started, "I wrote an almost flawless essay on Muggle media. I decided to be creative, you know? Think outside the box, be unique, et cetera. I wrote about New Media and digital news, and I got a low grade for inaccuracy!"

"Was it inaccurate, though?"

"Of course not! His argument was that it wasn't covered material in the book. I got my information verified by a real Muggle, and Professor Richards doesn't know shit anyway."

"That real Muggle could have been wrong," Scorpius pointed out.

Rose toppled dramatically off the sofa and onto the ground. "My grade is in more pain than I am! I can't fail Muggle Studies, of all things to fail!"

Scorpius raised his eyebrows even higher. "I'm sure you could talk to Professor Richards, if you really cared."

Rose's eyes shot up to glare at him through a net of curls. "Are you implying that I don't care?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Scorpius suddenly found himself sitting outside the Gryffindor common room, smiling at the back of a peeved Rose storming towards the Muggle Studies classroom.

* * *

Rose chewed her lip as she approached the classroom doors, wondering if she should go through with with her plan. She never had any quarrels with Professor Richards before; why would she start now? Rose then reminded herself that she also had never failed an essay before.

She knocked thrice and let herself in. If he were in there naked, doing something illegal, or picking his nose, he'd just have to deal with the two seconds she gave him to get decent.

"Miss Weasley!" Professor Richards turned from the board and greeted her with a smile.

Rose, unfortunately, could not match his expression. "I'd like to talk about my essay grade."

"Of course, my dear! Do sit down."

Professor Richards sat behind his desk, and Rose took a seat on the opposite side. "If you can spare the time, I'd like to know why you failed me."

"Of course I can spare the time. You are always welcome in my office. I failed you because your essay was inaccurate. From what I've read, what you called New Media is not media."

" _Well_." Rose dropped a hefty stack of printed Muggle newspaper articles on the table before folding her hands neatly. "Even if the concept is debatable, I'm sure you can't argue that these Muggle tabloids do offer strong points."

Professor Richards pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He picked up the first page from the stack and flipped it back and forth, as if inspecting its validity. "You certainly did your research."

"I understand that most kids just rephrased their textbooks."

"That was the expectation, Miss Weasley." With a sigh, Professor Richards picked up another article. "You exceeded those expectations. Unfortunately, I'm grading your essays like the Ministry will, and New Media is not yet known to them. You would receive low credit or no credit if you were writing this paper for your OWL."

Rose crinkled her nose in disbelief. "Well, we've got to fix that."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's not fair to grade people as if they're incorrect if you are really the incorrect one."

"Miss Weasley!"

"Sorry, Professor Richards. I didn't mean to imply that you don't know much about your subject. That came out wrong." _Except I really did mean to imply that,_ Rose thought.

Professor Richards leafed through the rest of the articles, occasionally reading a line or two. Just as Rose was beginning to conclude that he just wanted to look busy, his expression slowly turned apologetic, then excited. "Well," he said. "I suppose we could work together to propose a new textbook."

They met eye to eye for the first time and smiled conspiratorially at each other from across the table.


	2. She's a Keeper

Katie clutched her broom in her hand so hard that her knuckles were a splotchy white. How often had she talked to upperclassmen? Never. How often had she talked to boys in general? Never. And here she was, on a quidditch team on which there were both upperclassmen, boys, and upperclassmen boys. She highly doubted she would do as well as everybody else would.

It was entirely too much for her 13 year old self to handle.

"All right!" Oliver kicked himself into the air and floated about ten feet off the ground. "We'll be scrimmaging today!"

What on earth was a scrimmage?

"And for you newbie lot, that just means we'll be playing each other in a practice round."

Oh, dear. Katie could feel herself shaking. She wondered why the professors would allow tweens to compete against practically grown seventeen-year-olds.

"We only have one keeper, though," someone said.

Oliver smiled. "Would you like to be keeper then?"

"I'm fine," he responded.

Somehow Katie's mouth opened on its own accord. "I'll do it!"

Oliver looked her way and she almost collapsed on the spot from fright. The captain was examining her capability.

"You tried out for chaser, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Keepers didn't have to fly as much, she knew. And if her defenders were any good she wouldn't have to do much, anyway.

Katie flew hesitantly to the goal post. It's not that she didn't believe in her flying skills. She just didn't believe in her face's skills to survive if she were hit in the face. "I'll just have to duck," she murmured, amused with herself.

Oliver blew the whistle and released all of the balls right as she reached her position.

She comfortably watched the Weasley twins fly in complex patterns and layovers far away from her, and Oliver sitting on his broom with crossed arms. If only she actually knew what she was doing...then this would be a lot less mind wracking. Maybe she should bring it up to McGonagall to have a juniors team. Why weren't there activities outside of class, anyway? The Gryffindors could definitely use a card trading club, or a charm accelerator. And what was up with the fat lady? Ever since the beginning of the year, the passwords had been slowly getting more and more depressing. The Hogsmeade trip would be-

"BELL!"

Katie squeaked and plummeted ten feet before pulling up in a mini wronski feint.

"WATCH THE GAME!" Oliver hollered. "JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE IN KEEP DOESN'T MEAN YOU GET TO LOUNGE ABOUT LIKE A SLAB OF MEAT."

Katie cringed. The other team had scored on her and was celebrating obnoxiously loudly.

"YES, SIR!" she yelled back.

"DON'T SIR ME. JUST DO IT."

Katie felt as ruffled as a cat thrown in a drier as she went back to her station. Oliver sure had gotten good at his Captain Voice.

"Have to pay attention," she whispered, determined to save even one goal.

The game resumed, and this time she made sure to pay attention. She was so sure that her back was beginning to ache from its uprightness.

Just as well, because a chaser was coming at her with a break. "Come on, beaters!" she mumbled.

No bludgers came.

Katie steeled herself for the oncoming blow.

As the quaffle neared the right ring, she let out a yelp and flung herself in that direction.

And, well, the next thing she knew, she was in the infirmary, staring up at a Miss Pomfrey was was dabbing her face with a cloth.

"What…" Katie croaked, "happened?"

"Oliver, the dear boy, carried you in here with her nose bleeding red roses all over your quidditch uniform. You had a concussion, a broken nose, and a few broken blood vessels around your eyes. All fixed."

"Wait, _who_?"

"I healed you, of course."

"No, I mean, who carried me?"

"Oliver."

Katie smiled a small smile to herself, feeling childishly giggly. She still wanted to be chaser, not keeper, though.


	3. Swiftly, He Drew

**Written for Round 3 of QLFC. Prompt was: arrow(s), 1501-1750 words.**

 **Also written using Caesar's Palace Prompts: arrow, stars, starlight, finite. Submitted to Caesar's Palace's Challenges by the Dozen.**

 **WC: 1588**

 **A CedricLives!AU**

* * *

We went to the beach today.

We did our usual morning routine together to get ready to leave, grumpiness and all, though the grumpiness was mostly Cho's doing. It's not my fault that I didn't have the foresight to know that she wanted an omelet.

"We eat omelets every Sunday!" she chastised quietly.

"But why do we have to?"

"Good point. Why do we have to do anything?"

"Why are you so sarcastic early in the morning?" I grumbled. In hindsight, she was covering the picnic, so I should have made breakfast. I wasn't thinking, oblivious me.

"It was your job to make breakfast. I was looking forward to this."

"I'm glad we're talking about our feelings."

Cho looked away, her eyes tracing the floor tiles. I raised my palms, contrite, trying to make everything better. Cho isn't really good at feelings, you know. She sees them as ephemeral compared to logic, which is more steadfast in her mind. She's never verbally confirmed how she feels about me, which bothers me sometimes. I want to ask, but asking someone to tell them they love you before they're ready seems terrible.

I've always loved hard and fast, and I don't know if she feels the same. There are moments when I think she does, but we don't ever talk about them.

For example, she looked at me this evening like I was the universe on a clear night, like I was an ineffable beauty holding her essential secrets.

I remember it clearly.

Her eyes turned towards mine, sparkling, and the threads of gold sinking in the black-coffee brown were remnants of stardust. I pulled her face towards mine, trying to get a closer look and marvelling at how closely they resembled a truffle. I told her, and she laughed. When I opened my mouth widely to laugh along, the sound tasted like bubbles of champagne.

She rose to her feet and started to run, looking back at me only to beckon me to the chase. The foam of a wave tickled my ankles as I took after her on the rocks. Her hair was a brown halo, wisps of it rising off her head like tendrils of smoke stuck in time. She leapt from rock to rock with the grace of a goose, nearly falling a few times. I wasn't much better.

The sun was tucking itself into bed under the horizon, the sheets a deep navy blue, as we ran after each other like children.

I think this was the moment that I realized I could have easily loved her more than everything I've ever loved, but I think I'll keep my mouth shut for now.

If I told her and she asked me why I'm not sure if I could answer.

Every morning, I wake a little before she does. The sun shines through the blinds in tiger stripes, and she always turns away from the window in her sleep so she doesn't have to notice that it's morning. I'm not crazy enough to think that behavior means anything important, but it seems that even unconsciously she is trying to escape. Sometimes she'll turn towards me and the window for just a moment, and I'll see the frowns and wrinkles she holds back when she's awake, the ones that she won't talk to me about.

"It's time to get up, love," I lean over and whisper in her ear.

Her eyelids fly open like a bird stretching out its wings, and she tenses as if she hadn't expected my touch. It's been months, and she's still unused to my waking her up. I'd stop, but she hates alarms even more, and she hasn't offered any other solution. I just try to be gentle. We've both seen things that haunt our dreams.

"Hey," I say. I touch her shoulder and her muscles relax.

"Hey."

She pushes me off before I can say much else and sits up. Then, she smiles at me with crust still in her eyes and wipes the dried drool from her cheek.

"I'd kiss you but I have bad breath," she says sheepishly. I hate that she has to feel embarrassed as soon as she wakes up.

"You always have bad breath."

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion?"

I give her a playful push, but not too hard, because the last time I did that, she toppled off the bed.

"I'll hex you back into your mother's womb," she'd said, glaring at me with both amusement and annoyance.

If she's feeling good, we get up, and she stumbles out of the room, still remembering how to use her limbs. Sometimes, I wonder how she could be so clumsy and still be a Seeker.

She sometimes calls rising from sleep being reborn, because she says she doesn't know she exists and can't tell when she sleeps. Someday, I'll tell her that she doesn't need to worry about not existing at night, because I'll be dreaming about her. The nights I don't dream about you-know-what, that statement isn't a lie.

This is a little funny to me, because she falls asleep earlier than I do, too. She likes being the little spoon, and while my arm doesn't like that, I hold her against me at night as she slips off into the next world.

Maybe it's because we're still young and infatuated with each other, but I can't stop being enchanted by her back inflating and deflating against my beating chest.

I love her, but I think I'll keep my mouth shut for now. I don't know if she'd keep feeling comfortable with my arms around her.

Someday, we'll head out where the trees are barren after autumn, and we'll hang strings of lights from their branches. When it snows, I'll come up behind her and put my hands around hers as she cups a mug of hot chocolate (because she hates the bitterness of coffee), warm palms upon warm knuckles, and watch our yule candles become coated with white.

Maybe we'll buy a house on the edge of a cliff and throw rocks off the end for fun. If I bought that house now and asked her to move in with me, she probably would. I think that says something, at least. It's not that she doesn't care for me. I wonder if she's afraid.

"We could collect and sell potion ingredients," would be my excuse. Potions was one of my better subjects at Hogwarts, and with a little more practice and reading I could get a license. I'd collect ingredients to sell or brew potions, and Cho would have the peace to write.

I'll talk to her about infinity being the abyss off the cliff, and she'll say that I'm being stupid because that's much too cheesy and entirely untrue. Then, when the stars come out, I'll point to Venus and say, "There, that's infinite." Cho won't know what I'm pointing at, exactly, so she'll think I mean the universe, and not love. I'll feel reassured when she agrees.

I feel a bit silly writing this, but I've imagined a scene, a reason behind my madness, in which Venus herself was standing on a faraway planet, her namesake. Her son Cupid fluttered by her side as she pointed at Earth with a delicately outstretched finger. He nodded, knowing exactly what to do. Swiftly, he drew an arrow and notched in his bow. When he sent it hurtling through space and time, it must have hit me.

When we buy our quaint house on the edge of the world, I'm going to paint it green and the porch yellow. Cho likes green, but if she doesn't like it, I don't know if I'll be able to tell what's displeasing her, so I'll ask her first, of course. I'll wear a white apron and get them splattered with paint. I'll spill my tea on it, only _probably_ accidentally, and not _scourgify_ any of it just so she has to.

She'll shake her head at me and say, "Men," as if it's a lot of work to cast a few charms. When I tell her this, she'll scoff and say, "If it's so little work, why don't you do it? And better yet, why are you painting the house without magic?"

Then, I'll reply with something witty, but nothing is coming to mind now. I'll have to think on that. Cho's better at making witty comments than I am, but I suppose I'm better at accepting that I'm worse. However, I do know why I'm going painting the house the Muggle way. What else would I do in the middle of nowhere?

Soon enough, my apron won't need cleaning anymore, because each inch of the wooden exterior will be covered in a new coat.

When the paint dries, I'll plant flowers under the window shutters, which I'll paint blue, and we'll name each of them like they're our children. The irises I'll name Iris, the tulips I'll name Two Lips, and so on. I think Cho would laugh at me for that.

Every morning, I'll sit on the porch overlooking the cliffs and trace the miles to the horizon. When the sun rises, I'll feel as if I've discovered something. Funny, how a person can feel like they see the sun a different way than everyone else, just because he's sitting at the top of a cliff.

With flowers near me, Cho inside the house, and this corner of the world to ourselves, perhaps I will tell her then.


	4. A Dilemma Regarding Children

**Written using Caesar's Palace Prompts (prompt: situational)**

* * *

Lucius sat down beside Narcissa with fragility she didn't know was in him. His shoulders were soft, but his lips seemed brittle. She only could wonder what words would slide out between them.

"Dearest?"

Lucius smoothed his forehead and smiled thinly. Resting his hand on Narcissa's knee, he spoke. "How are you this afternoon?"

Narcissa frowned. It was just like her husband to avoid the point. "Out with it."

"What makes you think I'm harboring a secret?" Lucius turned towards his wife, his fingers playing a tap dance on her leg.

"I know you far too well to think you care about how I'm feeling this afternoon."

"You're stone cold."

"And you're stalling."

Lucius wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Forgive me for being blunt, but we must provide an heir to the Malfoy family soon."

Narcissa uncomfortably turned the page of the book in her lap, but she was no longer reading it. "We've been trying our hardest."

"We have, but my parents just gave me a floo call lecture about how people are speculating."

Narcissa snapped the cover closed crossly. "About what?"

"You know, those things," Lucius said. "And, of course, they're blaming you for it."

"Does that bother you?"

"I would be lying if I said it didn't."

Narcissa sighed. "I wish you wouldn't."

"Be honest?" He raised his eyebrows, teasing. "I thought you liked my cunning."

"Come on, Lucius. You came here looking serious, and I expected a serious conversation."

Lucius raised his palms in mock surrender, his expression perfectly innocent.

"Though," Narcissa added, resting her hand on his cheek. "you do look quite a bit younger when you're having fun. War is changing you."

"It's the war for what's right," said Lucius. Narcissa's hand slid off his face as he turned towards the window. "It has shown me many things that I once wished to not see, but they were necessary evils."

"The Dark Lord will be at full height of his power in a year or two. I think it would be best to have a child now. There are fertility healers…""

Lucius turned somber and he leaned back into the sofa, trying to look less nervous than he was. "That's why it would be best to have a child now."

"A child, during the war?"

Lucius knew Narcissa wanted a child but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to guarantee its safety. It would kill Narcissa if her baby did not come out of the war untouched.

But his parents had been pushing for children. "Yes, that is what I'm implying."

"I don't know…" Narcissa trailed off, leaving her thoughts suspended in the air. Lucius knew what she was going to say.

"Our child would grow up under the command of the Dark Lord. Is that your worry?" Lucius saw in Narcissa's hesitancy was more than afraid for her child. He saw desire for one. "If not now, when?"

"It would be selfish of us," she said. "We must think of our child first, not our own desires."

"The Dark Lord's reign will not be short, Narcissa. Who knows what he'll do when he rises to full power?" Lucius loved his Lord, but he did not trust him to be nice around children or people who had them. Children were always the link that made people cave in to giving information, or running "errands."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "It would be best to raise our child now, when he is still weak. Or we will never have a chance."

The two looked at each other silently, pondering the fate of their child and of the Dark Lord.

* * *

 **Thanks for the reviews, all!**


	5. A Disappearing Light

**1\. Written for Quidditch Leage's Round 4 as the Arrows Keeper. Prompt used: Centaur. 2.** **Also written using C/P prompts: blood, benevolent, disdain, peacekeeper. 3. Submitted for the Divination OWL at Hogwarts. 4.** **Submitted to Caesar's Palace's Build-A-Bear Challenge: Lots of stuffing!**

 **A huge thanks to Emmeebee, gunnerbrat, and Lamia of the Dark for helping me immensely!**

 **WC: 1319**

* * *

Bane looked through the dense foliage at the boy stumbling over tree roots. "So this is their savior?"

Firenze trotted up behind the other centaur. He too had heard the boy romping in the Forbidden Forest along with his blond friend. They both were clumsy, wearing robes that were too big for their frames. "It's unlike you to notice 'puny human problems.'"

"I take it upon myself to notice any intruders."

"Would he not be 'a human boy capable of nothing'?" Firenze scoffed.

Bane nodded. "That I now see."

"But," Firenze continued, "the stars are vague. They only tell us what can be."

"I do not need to be schooled by you," said Bane, and he turned from his place behind the bushes.

Firenze stared at his friend's back with tired eyes. "That was not my intention."

Bane turned his head so that Firenze was in his peripheral vision. "I did not mean to be touchy. Don't worry any longer about this wizard child. He will find his place. What we _should_ worry about is the unicorn blood splattered around the forest."

Bane walked away from the scene without a second glance. With a grunt of displeasure, Firenze looked again at the young Harry Potter, struggling and afraid. He reminded himself that the boy was not of any significance to him, but the stars did look interesting that night. Bane had said that he was proficient at reading the stars, as well, and Firenze smiled thinly as he thought of Bane's troubling reaction. Bane was more worried than he let on.

"We shall have to see what becomes of this," Firenze murmured. He turned to leave the scene; the boys seemed harmless enough.

As he was heading back to the herd, an ear-piercing scream shattered the veil of night. Firenze whipped around and gallopped back to the sound.

* * *

As soon as the Potter boy left him to return to the Hogwarts castle, albeit a bit shakily, Firenze received a fearsome glare from his companion. He knew they would be discussing that encounter with the humans later.

Back in the Forbidden Forest, Bane slowed to a walk, forcing Firenze to follow suit. "What was that about?" Bane demanded.

"I sensed a great evil in the forest."

"You let him ride on you like he was your master," Bane snarled. He quickened his pace, and again Firenze was forced to match in speed. He hated that he had to bend to Bane's will; being close to Magorian had its advantages.

"He was only a boy!"

"Even worse. You see how these humans treat beings of the wood like us. They slaughter even the ones they like, if it benefits them. Not even unicorns are spared."

Firenze considered what Bane had said, his thoughts pounding against his skull in time with the clunk of his hoofs. The stars had foretold a change tonight for the centaurs, and Firenze had thought the boy would be it. But something was still not right. If he had predicted their pattern correctly, many dates of importance were to come, as well. Angered by Firenze's silence, Bane broke into a canter.

"Firenze." The centaurs met eyes for a moment. "I will ask Magorian to call an assembly first thing tomorrow. I'm sure he won't deny my request, given our startling circumstances."

Firenze nodded subtly, knowing Bane was scrutinizing him even as tree branches flew by between them.

"And you will be speaking," Bane added.

* * *

"Firenze will speak now."

The sunlight slipped between the branches and splayed onto the centaurs' backs like drops of golden water, reflecting off their coats. His herd was in good health.

With a grim smile, Firenze moved to the front of the assembly. He felt strangely uncomfortable before his companions, and they sensed that as they looked at him. Magorian didn't usually let Firenze speak, so whenever the peaceful centaur addressed them, it was usually because something grave had or was about to happen.

He cleared his throat. "There isn't much news to report. The unicorns are still being killed. The forest we call home still has an ominous gloom hanging over it."

Firenze inwardly winced as his quip received no laughter. Centaurs never were the cheeriest folk. Biting his tongue, he continued, "Last night, the stars gave me a hunch that a change would come to our herd.

"Now, that is not so unusual. Hunches like these are often commonplace, and I am no seer. But last night, through the mist, I saw a bright star over the horizon. It was an abnormal light."

At this, his herd shifted. They too were nervous about their own safety. Who could blame them, with an evil aura mucking up their home, and creatures being murdered without traces of potential suspects?

"It streaked across the sky like a shooting star, but it moved as if through water instead of through air. And so close to the horizon… I have never seen a star so near to earth. It blinked at steady intervals, and it didn't taper into darkness at the end of its run.

"At first, I thought it must have been a wizard on a broom, but that was not the case. It didn't seem to be a human at all. More importantly, it went below the horizon, and I'm sure you all know that a star going under the horizon means vital information is currently hidden from our view. I am curious about this. We have not seen such changes in the sky for years.

"I propose we approach an outside source. Let them gather information about the world and report to us of the changes. It does no good for us to lie here, knowing wars between wizards will come to our home, but not knowing of outside movements."

Firenze bowed his head to signal the end of his speech. "Don't be a fearmonger," Bane had said to him before the meeting. Now, Firenze felt a familiar stare boring holes into his skull, so he raised his eyes to meet Bane's. There was more anger in them than he had expected. When Firenze looked to Magorian, he saw a muted but similar expression.

"Thank you," Firenze mumbled and returned to the group, a bit disheartened.

Bane nodded and took his place in the assembly, his muscles taut and threatening. "It's no secret that our friend Firenze is a human-sympathizer. I have no doubt that his good will for our herd is genuine, but his opinion is clouded by his strange affection for those creatures."

Firenze tried not display his frustration as Bane continued to speak. "Contacting anyone outside of our unit is dangerous and unnecessary. Drawing attention to ourselves when we have always been perfectly fine where we are is not worth the trouble."

Bane stomped his hoof twice, as if to seal his decision.

Firenze's eyes flitted to Magorian in uncertainty. By the look on his leader's face, Firenze would not be getting information from other species in the magical world anytime soon.

* * *

The days passed slowly as Firenze partook in the daily routine of the average centaur. He patrolled the grounds, sharpened his arrows, collected food, and acted like he wasn't worried about the changing forest and the shifting skies.

It wasn't until the nearing of summer that he saw the Potter boy again. The child was too close to the forest to be comfortable, yet he seemed at peace. He sat in the sunlight, playing with the grass with his tiny fingers, even though the shade of a tree was only a few meters away. With one hand, he pushed up his glasses. With the other, he crumpled more leaves.

Firenze watched this, feeling an ineffable sorrow. When the boy threw up clumps of clovers and strew them in his own hair, Firenze turned away. He only hoped someone knew how this child was to save the Wizarding world.


	6. Brain Cells

Wc: 528

* * *

Two girls threw themselves into the carpet until they were looking at the ceiling.

"Ouch!" one of them yelped.

"It's not like you can afford to lose any more brain cells," the other retorted.

"Says _you_ , of all people."

"Oh, hush."

Their fingers traced new words into the carpet before finding each other briefly.

"Hermione, you can't just say that and expect me to listen to you. I was not born to be a pansy."

"No, your mum wanted you to be a Pansy; is that it?"

"My father did, actually."

Hermione turned over, catching Pansy's hand. "Why are we lying on the floor?"

"Because we wanted to?"

"Do you never think about why you want to do things?" Hermione sighed. Nothing she did made sense when she was around Pansy, but she was sure she'd get the hang of it some day.

"Sometimes. Sometimes it doesn't matter. You aren't above feelings." Pansy pushed a lock of Hermione's curly hair behind her ear. "You're as animalistic as the rest of us, run by response and reward."

Hermione swatted Pansy's hand away. "I like my hair like this. Anyway, you've been thinking about saying this for a long time, haven't you?"

"You think I can't be eloquent on the fly?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"Hey!" Pansy kicked Hermione with her toes. "But, yeah, you're right. Not that I can't be eloquent on the fly. That I've been thinking about it a lot."

"There isn't a grand purpose to life, is there?"

"That's easy for you to say," Pansy pointed out. "You've already left a huge legacy. Students will be learning about you centuries from now. They'll hang posters of you on their wall saying things like, 'I want to be as brilliant as Hermione Granger,' and the like."

"Well, I guess that's true."

"What happened to your modesty?" They both laughed.

"As I was saying," Hermione continued. "I'm very much a person who asks _why_ a lot. Reasons and purposes are important to me."

"I was a Slytherin, Hermione. They're important to me, too."

"I thought were weren't going back to Hogwarts House stereotypes."

"Right, right. I digress. But the statement still stands."

Hermione rolled her eyes for a bit and continued. "I'm kind of...left in a limbo."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione picked a piece of lint out of Pansy's hair. "We really shouldn't be lying on the ground."

"This is the floor, not the ground."

"You know what I meant."

"But I still don't what you meant."

"Oh, right. It's like there are two of me. There's one who asks the why, and the other one who says that stuff doesn't matter because there is no why, besides that the rules of nature said that I was born to like dopamine for evolutionary purposes. And I'm just acting out a moment of...chance."

"Chance?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, when you think about it, the way everything is just a product of chance and some weird shit."

"Pansy!"

"Hermione! If you are worried about a grand purpose in life, you'll be disappointed. You weren't born for anything."

"I was born to be yours." Hermione waggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, Merlin."


	7. Beauty Charm

**Written as Keeper for the Arrows. Prompt: beauty charm.**

 **Word count: around 1200**

* * *

I.

"Where are you going, little mademoiselle?" A man staggered forward and lurched at the girl without warning.

He stunk of beer and smoke. He also looked the part of a monster, with a small beard unshaved and neglected, the kind of monster that all young women fear walking the streets at night. Under the daylight, he did not look as scary as he might have, but Fleur was was nervous all the same.

"Monsieur, what may I help you with?" Her voice trembled.

"Nothing you would know about," he said, stopping in his path to raise his arms in mock surrender. "Just come a little closer so I can tell you."

Fleur shrank back, pulling her arms into herself defensively. "I'm sorry?"

"There are a few things I could teach you."

Somehow, Fleur's soles had been glued to the sidewalk, but her soul banged against her ribcage, screaming for her to move.

At the end of the street, she hunched over, wheezing and weeping. Her body suddenly felt dirty, and she covered her chest with crossed arms, wanting to make it disappear. _So this is why we don't visit Muggles too often._

* * *

Fleur remembered how things were in the Veela unit. They barely socialized outside of it, mostly because nobody could resist the Allure or their general graces enough to make them feel comfortable. She and her cousins played in the fields outside almost every day, and they came home every evening with dirt on their dresses and shoes. It was a wonder their mothers hadn't killed them.

"We're going out," her mother said one day. "I think it's time you went with us, before your Allure is fully manifested."

Fleur nodded. She didn't yet know how to control her veela abilities, and it would be very dangerous to have an overwhelmed child running outside to do whatever she pleased. Danger didn't scare her, though. After all, she'd never run into any problems back home.

Now, she stood before her mirror with a somber gaze. At thirteen, neither her facial features nor figure suggested womanhood. Her wide eyes opened further with fear, and her mouth curled in disappointment. She had trembled for hours afterwards, and not because she feared the man, particularly. She wanted a beauty charm to charm her mouth away, or her nose, or her ears, or...

She touched her lip, her cheek, her eyelid. She was soft and familiar to herself. She was ordinary.

"I just want to be normal," she whispered to the mirror. She knew it would keep her secret.

* * *

II.

Fleur had been friends with a boy named Adam. They'd helped each other with schoolwork, since they had to sit next to each other in Alchemy, and she was hopeless at Divination. The term was nearly over and Fleur had been depending on her last Divination paper to bring up her grade.

Fleur dropped her books on the table and put her paper on top of the stack with a proud nod. "I got a ninety!"

"Congrats," said Adam. He combed his hair with his fingers, leaning back in his chair. "Do I get anything in return? Like, would you go to Wyvern's Tavern with me on Saturday?"

Fleur stepped back from the table, her tense shoulders betraying her surprise. "Ah… Adam…" She trailed off and looked at her hands.

"I get it," he said. "You just want to be friends."

Fleur nodded.

"What kind of guy do you like?" Adam tightened his lips into a thin line and left. "The bad boy? Nice girls always go for the bad boys."

Fleur stood rooted to the carpet. She grabbed her books and clutched them to her chest. "I'm not interested in any boy, right now."

"A lesbian, then?"

"I never said that!"

"Fine."

He stormed away, leaving a trail of confusion in his wake.

* * *

III.

Fleur avoided leaving home until Helen showed up. Helen was the daughter of a family friend, and apparently very well bred, though not of veela heritage, according to Fleur's mother. Looking at Helen, you wouldn't be able to tell. She was wilder than Fleur was, wore her hair in long and tangled tresses, and danced in the lawn without shoes on, if that gives an idea of the kind of girl she was.

"What?" Fleur said. Helen had been talking and getting her skirts yellow from the juice of flower petals

"I said," Helen started, "that perhaps we could go downtown."

"I haven't been down there since I quit dancing lessons."

"And when was that?"

"Well, maybe two years ago," Fleur said. "I was fourteen."

"Why'd you stop going?"

"I don't feel comfortable walking by myself downtown, and the only reason my parents would ever take me is for dancing lessons, or piano lessons."

Helen kicked her legs out in front of her with a shrug. "I adore the piano. Don't you?"

"I don't think I'm very much suited to music," Fleur said. "I'm much better at dueling."

"Oh, I know of a lovely little store!" Helen said, suddenly sitting up. "We simply must go. I can show you all the sorts of musical things Muggles come up with. They're really quite clever."

Fleur shrugged back. "All right, if you insist."

They waltzed between the different rooms in the instrument shop, tinkling the piano keys or strumming the guitars when they so inclined, or to cover up their laughter.

* * *

They returned to Fleur's home with a few pieces of sheet music and collapsed onto Fleur's bed, their legs still hanging off the mattress. Helen sighed into the blanket before turning to Fleur with a sleepy smile. "Shall we go to a party next?"

"A party?"

Helen nodded against a pillow. "You would look smashing. Come on, you act as if Beauxbatons has never had a party before. Besides, I've never attended a party in Western Europe, and I've already gotten invited."

Fleur raised her eyebrows at her her friend in disbelief. "You, from Hungary, have found friends here so quickly?"

"Never doubt my abilities."

* * *

"Sit still!"

"I'm sorry! I can't help it." Fleur laughed and swatted Helen's hand away. "Helen of Troy doesn't seem to be able to hold her own when it comes to makeup."

"Oh, hush. Why can't you just cast the beauty charm on yourself like the rest of us do?"

Fleur gasped. "The most beautiful woman in the world, declared by Aphrodite herself, uses beauty charms?"

"You have to look good for the boys, am I right?" Helen winked at Fleur, trying to joke.

Without meaning for it to happen, Fleur thought about the first time she visited a Muggle city and how she had nearly thrown up afterwards, half from the running and half from the memory. She thought about how she had felt when a boy felt she owed him for his being a friend to her. She thought about how she'd hated her body and wanted a different one, but for different reasons than Helen.

Fleur tilted her head sternly. "I'm serious. You are beautiful."

"Easy for you to say." Helen shrugged, crossing her arms without realizing it. "You know we're just doing the makeup thing for fun, at least for you."

Fleur reached over at patted Helen's cheek affectionately. "Whatever makes you feel good about yourself is okay."


End file.
